


i still hear you when you pray

by imperialhare



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Dream Sex, M/M, samot and hadrian talk about their feelings and then fuck, spoilers for SIH35
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 13:09:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19768876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperialhare/pseuds/imperialhare
Summary: After receiving Samot's cloak for the second time, Hadrian visits him in a dream.





	i still hear you when you pray

The first night on the boat going down the Archivist’s River to the City of First Light, Adaire and Throndir take the night watch. Below deck, it’s warm enough that Hadrian doesn’t need a blanket, but even so he wraps the cloak around his shoulders before he settles down to sleep. Little surprise then, that when he dreams, he dreams of Samot.

The little room swims into focus — Samot’s study, or at least the version that exists in the world of dreams. In the dim candlelight Hadrian cannot see the ornate gold-embellished wallpaper, the beautiful moulding, can barely make out the shapes of the bookshelves that line the walls. There is a writing desk, where Samot is seated, engrossed in his work, and next to the desk there is a bed. Hadrian himself stands in the doorway. As he tries to reorient himself he observes the delicate curves of Samot’s immaculate handwriting for a moment before going to sit down on the side of the bed. 

There’s a moment’s silence, in which Samot does not acknowledge him. “This seems kind of nostalgic, doesn’t it?” Hadrian says, a little awkwardly.

“I suppose so. You haven’t dreamed of me in many years,” Samot replies, not looking up from his work just yet. The profile of his face is illuminated by candlelight, but Hadrian can make out the outline of his features from the scars of star-stuff in the darkness as well. With his hair cut short he still looks not quite himself, although by now it’s grown long enough that strands of golden hair fall playfully into his face again. 

Hadrian senses the hint of reproach in Samot’s voice, reacts instinctively to it. “Are you mad at me?”

Samot stops writing, and for a moment Hadrian thinks he might turn on him in anger. Instead he just puts his pen down and sighs. Hadrian sees a lot of tired people every day, including himself in the mirror, but there is something ancient and bone-weary about Samot’s exhaustion, the expression on his face when he looks at Hadrian, which he forces into a small smile. 

“No,” Samot replies. He closes the book.

“Well, you seem kind of—”

Samot gets up from his chair and closes the small distance between them. Hadrian feels Samot’s right hand grip his shoulder, the brush of Samot’s fingers under his chin, and then Samot’s lips on his, soft — hopeful. Hadrian returns the kiss, gently, pulls Samot forward by the hips to guide him onto his lap.

“Hadrian,” he murmurs, and Hadrian can sense warm surprise and approval both in his voice. Samot kisses him again, more energetically this time — when they part Hadrian feels his lip tingle where Samot bit him. It isn’t unpleasant at all.

“Some things are better kept to the realm of dreams,” Samot says. His voice is quiet. “The cloak looks good on you, Hadrian.”

“What do you mean?”

“That it suits you to be wearing something I gave you.” Samot smirks when he says it — an irrepressible smugness.

Hadrian’s face flushes, but he still tries to clarify. “No, I mean… about the dreams.”

“Hm. I only mean that… you won’t have to remember any of this. Unless you wish to. But I wouldn’t dare to presume so much.” Samot sighs and caresses Hadrian’s cheek, runs his fingers down through his beard. “I think your avoidance made some things clear to me.”

“I’m sorry… I… I wanted to give you some space…”

“Hadrian, I’ve lived… a very long time. Long enough to realize that much of the time that when you assume someone needs space, it’s often less about them and more about your own anxieties. I use ‘you’ in the general sense, of course, but I don’t think I’ve evaluated you wrongly — you specifically.” Samot smiles to soften the criticism, still stroking Hadrian’s cheek, tracing the lines of the scars he received from the Advocate. There’s a sort of heady pleasure to that touch and the candlelit room that dulls Hadrian’s embarrassment. “You caught my eye, all those years ago, you know. When you saw me in Severea’s tower. I heard you cry out for Samothes and, knowing… that he... cared not to answer you… I answered instead. And I thought you would be grateful.”

Hadrian swallows. “I was.”

“No, you weren’t.” Samot grabs his face and kisses him again, hungrily, rougher this time. When he pulls back Hadrian finds himself breathless in Samot’s grasp, panting for air. “You don’t have to flatter me, Hadrian. I think we’re quite past that.”

“I mean — no, I mean… You made it so that I didn’t pray and hear nothing…”

“So I was better than nothing.”

“No, I—”

Samot laughs a little. “I think silence would have scared you less. Or been more motivating, perhaps. Are you afraid of me, Hadrian?”

Hadrian looks up at him, a miserable expression on his face — looking just as ashamed as he did in the moment before Samot put the cloak on him for the second time. “I’m… I mean… I don’t want to be,” Hadrian says, a little desperately. He had served as a paladin for well over a decade and yet it was terrifying to truly _have_ the attention of a god — gods who were so mortal, so human in their faults, a god like Samot who was old as history and yet regarded him with the affection of a man. Who is sitting on his lap, now, warm and loose in his arms even when his words are proud. Who he had seen on the brink of death and pulled back.

Hadrian inhales. “Can you hear what I’m thinking?”

Samot exhales. “Only when you want me to. When you pray.”

“Okay.” Hadrian pulls Samot in closer, presses his face to his neck — hears the little noise of surprise that Samot makes — and he prays. _Dear Samot… Your hair is really soft._ Samot laughs, a small and genuine sound. _Thank you for answering my questions and telling me what here is evil. For not letting my faith crush me. For waiting for me. I don’t know why you care about me the way that you do and yeah, sometimes that scares me, but I really do want to pay it back. Sincerely. And I really am sorry for avoiding you._

Hadrian opens his eyes and looks up. 

“Oh, Hadrian,” Samot says, smiling. “I really am fond of you.”

“Y-yeah? I feel like I’m surrounded by all these people who are way smarter than me. You and Rosana and—”

Samot presses a finger to his lips. “It’s alright. You don’t have to explain yourself further.”

Hadrian sighs. “Okay. If you say so.”

Samot simply looks at him for a moment, studying the angles of his face, his newly-acquired scars. It’s harder to read Samot’s expressions now that his eyes are glowing white instead of blue-violet, but there’s an unmistakable affection there that makes Hadrian want to look down at his hands again. 

But he just said he was sorry for avoiding Samot, so he keeps his gaze upward, looking at the beauty mark below Samot’s right eye, the glowing scar on his lip, the strand of hair that falls between his eyes. Hadrian reaches up and gently brushes it away from Samot’s face, tucking it behind his ear.

“Oh,” Samot says. An unreadable expression comes over his face for just a moment.

“Was that okay?”

“It’s… it’s fine, yes. Samothes used to do that a lot.”

“You… must miss him a lot.”

“I do.”

“I wish I had… brought something back from Aubade for you… or brought something _to_ Aubade for him…”

Samot laughs, and this time he puts his hand on Hadrian’s chest and pushes him back onto the bed. Hadrian goes, easily — his heart races as Samot straddles his waist and kisses him again, practically lying on top of Hadrian now. “A token either way wouldn’t have made a difference,” Samot murmurs, running his fingers over the edge of Hadrian’s parted lips. “I had the opportunity to speak to him again, because of a chain of events you helped set into motion. That isn’t nothing.”

“Yeah,” Hadrian mumbles, although he suddenly feels like he had very little to do with the whole thing.

“You didn't come here in your dreams to hear me talk about Samothes though, I'm sure,” Samot says wryly. He turns Hadrian’s face with a touch and kisses the corner of his jaw, then trails his lips over the muscle of his neck down to his collarbone. Hadrian gasps softly, and he feels Samot smirk against his skin. 

"Hadrian," he murmurs. Hadrian can feel his teeth. "Do you want to know why you caught my eye that day?"

"S-sure."

"You're easily one of the most gorgeous men I've ever laid eyes on. And so strong — something about you seems nigh indestructible. That's why I thought it would be a shame to let Tabard kill you."

"Tabard…" Hadrian spares a thought for the winsome and dutiful man he met in Alcyon, so changed from when he'd last seen him in the fallen tower. Another item on a long list of topics never discussed with Samot.

"Focus," Samot scolds.

"Oh, uh… you really think I'm…" Hadrian feels his face flush. It feels like too much to call himself handsome, let alone 'gorgeous'. "Good looking?"

"Of course I do. Your lack of vanity is astonishing. I think they may encourage modesty too much in the church." Samot gives him a wicked grin, sliding his hands further down Hadrian's bare chest. Hadrian doesn't know when he stopped having a shirt on — if he'd even had one on when he entered the dream — but he's hyper aware of Samot's fingers pressing into his skin, into the flesh around his pecs, as if that were something really erotic. When he meets Samot's gaze the look in his eyes can only be described as hungry. Hadrian shivers a little.

"I've wanted you for a long time," Samot murmurs.

Hadrian doesn't understand it at all. But maybe it doesn't matter whether or not he understands, only that he's willing to respond. "I'm here. I'm yours."

Samot lets out a long exhale at that, something that almost edges into a laugh — a laugh of relief. He presses his face against Hadrian’s chest for a moment, nuzzling against the coarse hair there before he raises his head again and just beams. "You don't know how happy it makes me to hear that." Samot sits up and shrugs his silk robe off his shoulders, exposing his pale and slender torso streaked with star-stuff, and he smiles, almost shyly. “Sincerely.”

“Can I…” Hadrian reaches for him, unsure where to put his hands first.

“Please.”

Hadrian touches the most prominent scar that lies over Samot’s heart, traces its rough edges. “We match,” Samot says quietly, as he runs a hand over one of the still red scars on Hadrian’s chest, although the color has faded somewhat now. Hadrian takes Samot’s hand in his own and kisses his knuckles, slow.

“It’s kind of amazing that we’re both still alive, isn’t it?” Hadrian says, still holding Samot’s hand against his lips.

“Yes.”

Thinking about what Samot had said to him the day before ( _what if we save this world only to suffer in it?_ ) Hadrian presses, “And it’s good. That we are.”

Samot laughs, and he squeezes Hadrian’s hand. “Yes, of course.”

“Okay, good. I’m glad you agree.”

“Is that so?” Amusement dances in Samot’s eyes, and he leans forward again to kiss Hadrian before he can respond, slow and lingering with one hand held close to Hadrian’s jaw. When they part lips Samot makes his way down Hadrian’s neck and shoulder, trails his lips over Hadrian's chest in a meandering path, excruciatingly slow as he dips lower and lower. Hadrian knows he's hard enough that Samot must be able to feel it through his pants, feels the knot of anxiety and anticipation knot tighter in his chest as Samot runs a hand along his thigh and presses his face into the hair on his stomach in slow kisses. Samot glances up at him and smirks. He slowly runs a finger along the bulge of Hadrian's cock, maddeningly light through the fabric of his pants.

"I knew you'd be big," Samot murmurs. Hadrian's not sure how his face can get hotter than it already is, but everything Samot says seems to make him blush more. "I can't wait to put you in my mouth… may I?"

"Y-yeah."

Samot unbuttons the fly of Hadrian's pants and slips his cock out, gently caressing it in his hands. "Beautiful," he murmurs, before experimentally touching his lips to it, mouthing sweet praise against the tip of Hadrian's cock, tongue darting out to lick away sticky precum. Hadrian groans but tries not to buck his hips, doesn't really know what to do with his hands so he settles for clenching them in the sheets. 

"You really do have a perfect cock, Hadrian," Samot says. He takes Hadrian into his mouth for just a moment, making him gasp before releasing him with a wet pop. "If this were a different era, a different place… It'd be a waste to cover you in armor and send you off to fight. I'd dress you in silks and keep you in my bedchamber." Samot gives him a wicked smile. 

Hadrian doesn't think it would suit him at all, but there's something dizzying about the fantasy of it. An involuntary whimper escapes his throat. Samot takes pity on him and takes him back into his mouth — he's so warm and wet and good with his tongue that Hadrian has to press his fingernails into his palms just to keep from coming down a god's throat right there and then. That would be too soon— 

"W-wait," Hadrian gasps, putting a hand on Samot's head clumsily and trying to pull away. "Wait."

Samot lets him go, although he looks puzzled. "Was that too much?"

"No — I mean, a little bit — I mean, I want to fuck you," Hadrian blurts out.

"Oh," Samot says, and for the first time he looks almost startled. "Oh.”

Hadrian sits up and pulls Samot back onto his lap and kisses him with feeling — he can taste himself on Samot’s lips, strangely acidic, and he hears Samot gasp a little as Hadrian licks into his mouth. It’s a good feeling, to know that he can surprise Samot.

“You have some tricks after all," Samot says, and the fondness in his voice is unmistakable.

"I'm not an old dog yet," Hadrian replies, and Samot laughs. It's a pretty laugh, Hadrian thinks. Everything Samot does is pretty somehow.

"Here." Samot opens the top drawer of his desk and hands Hadrian a delicate crystal vial on a golden chain. "It's oil. For lubrication," he says, amused, when Hadrian gives him a confused look.

"Oh, right," Hadrian mumbles, unscrewing the top of the vial and pouring some of the oil out onto his palm. 

"Spread it on your cock."

Hadrian obeys, taking himself in hand and slicking the oil on. It almost feels cold in comparison to how hot his skin is, and he has to suppress a shudder.

"Good boy. On me, too."

Hadrian flushes. Has Samot called him a good boy before? He carefully spreads Samot with one hand, sees Samot bite his lip with anticipation — Hadrian won't forget that expression easily — and slips a finger inside, relishing the way Samot sighs softly and cants his hips to press himself into Hadrian's hand. Hadrian presses in another finger, wondering at how easily Samot takes them in.

"Oh, I love a man with big hands," Samot breathes.

"Yeah?" Hadrian says, and Samot laughs.

"Take me," Samot murmurs.

Hadrian pulls his hand out and uses it to line up his cock, pressing the tip to Samot's waiting entrance. Samot actually moans when Hadrian enters him, throws his arms around Hadrian's shoulders and presses his mouth against Hadrian's, with a desperation that Hadrian hadn't expected. Samot takes him in to the hilt with ease and god, he feels good. When Samot laughs against his lips he realizes that Samot probably could hear that. 

"I wish you knew how much you could have ruined me this whole time," Samot says. Hadrian doesn't really know what he means but he knows that tone of voice. It's love. 

Does Samot love him? The prospect seems terrifying — and not even because he knows that everyone Samot loves is dead, but because he doesn’t feel worthy at all — Hadrian pushes past it, pushes himself inside Samot, holds his waist and flips them over so that it’s Samot on his back, pinned underneath Hadrian’s weight. Hadrian kisses him when he opens his mouth to make another smug remark, and he hears Samot gasp, then moan softly as Hadrian moves inside him.

“Hadrian,” Samot says. He punctuates Hadrian’s name with a whimper, and it’s fascinating, that Hadrian could make a god feel this way — that he could make Samot feel this way — he can’t help but gaze transfixed at Samot’s face as he fucks him, watching every little change in his expression, the line of his eyebrows, the quiver of his mouth and the rhythm of his uneven breaths. Hadrian wonders what his own face must look like — panting and slack-jawed for sure —

“Samot,” he gasps, grabbing Samot’s hips. It feels too fast considering all the buildup, but he can’t help himself, really, he’s so close— 

“Come in me,” Samot urges, and just the prospect of it is enough to make Hadrian fulfill. He comes in Samot with an eagerness that he hardly expected himself, and it feels so good that he can’t help but moan loudly, pressing his face into Samot’s shoulder. “Good, oh… good,” he hears Samot say, over and over, as he Hadrian slowly comes down from orgasm. Hadrian feels himself slip out, and he rolls off Samot as carefully as he can, heavily settling beside him on the bed.

“I’m sorry,” Hadrian mumbles, pulling Samot against himself so that he can bury his face against his skin. “I’m sorry, I can’t…” _I can’t give you what you really want._

“It’s okay,” Samot says, petting Hadrian’s head slowly, comfortingly. “It’s okay. Thank you, Hadrian. I would love for you to stay here a while longer, but I ought to let you get back to the world of the waking.”

“I could stay.” Hadrian looks up to meet Samot’s eyes, hoping that he can once again show his sincerity, at least.

Samot smiles, a little sadly. “I have plans, unfortunately. And really, it should be me who’s sorry. Good night, Hadrian.”

“What do you mean—”

.

But then Hadrian blinks, and he’s back in the hold of the boat, curled up on the cloak and dressed in his nightclothes, unblemished. It’s as if nothing had happened — or at least if it wasn’t for the lingering sensitivity in his body. On the other side of the room, Hella is lying awake also, looking at the floor.

“Hella?” Hadrian mumbles.

“Oh, Hadrian.” She gives him a look that he can barely make out in the dark, but it seems to be a knowing one. “It’s like that, huh?” 

“Oh, uh… Yeah, I guess,” Hadrian replies, not really sure what she means.

“That’s how it is with gods, I mean,” Hella says, and laughs, and turns away again to try to go back to sleep. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

Hadrian closes his eyes again and tries to pray. _Samot, if you’re listening… I want to know what you’re thinking. You can tell me. I want you to tell me._

No response, not that Hadrian can tell, but when he looks hard enough he can feel the connection still there, a residual warmth. He pulls the cloak tighter around himself and tries to fall asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> YES dream sex is back
> 
> find me on twitter @imperialhare!


End file.
